


broken legs, but he chased perfection

by Greet



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Minghao, Hurt Soonyoung, Illnesses, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Chronic Illness, Minghao is a ballet dancer, Minghao tries to be perfect, Minor Character Death, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Minghao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greet/pseuds/Greet
Summary: Hours meant to be spent with dear friends and family were lost in front of that mirror. It mocked him, it’s reflection distorting and sinister as if an invisible smirk stretched across the surface and swallowed him whole. He lived in his life in front of the wall of mirrors, legs stretched, music blaring in his ears. Wrong. Futile. Pathetic. Work, work, work until everything is how it should be. He lived by that mirror, bittersweet Perfection sitting just out of his reach.ıllıllııllıllıMinghao is a dancer who lost his passion, instead insistent on finding Perfection that doesn't exist. Soonyoung watches him wither under the pressure on an upcoming audition.





	broken legs, but he chased perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mainvocalrocky (infinityxu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinityxu/gifts).



Days dwindled and passed by like shooting stars- no- comets hurtling towards the atmosphere, engulfed in fire, threatening devastation and destruction. There was nothing he could do to control it, time slipping past him like water through his spread fingers. His efforts seemed futile. The sun slept, but he kept working, staring at himself in the mirror and analyzing the way he moved, stepped, and turned. Nothing mattered except that reflection, except the angle of his knees, the placement of his arms, and the confidence in his posture. Every pirouette meant to be perfectly smooth, each grande jeté shocking. He stared at the mirror, ensuring every movement was executed with grace, with beauty. Hours meant to be spent with dear friends and family were lost in front of that mirror. It mocked him, it’s reflection distorting and sinister as if an invisible smirk stretched across the surface and swallowed him whole. He lived in his life in front of the wall of mirrors, legs stretched, music blaring in his ears. Wrong. Futile. Pathetic. Work, work, work until everything is how it should be. He lived by that mirror, bittersweet Perfection sitting just out of his reach.

 

It was an interesting thing, Perfection. It sneered at him, dancing just on the other side of the mirror before disappearing. It smiled at him, flirted with him. He was wrapped around Perfection’s finger, hopelessly chasing his own reflection, trying to force it into a mold that perhaps didn’t exist. That can’t be, he insisted to himself. Perfection was there, but it was just hiding from him. If he simply never left, constantly working his body to its brink, he’d have to find it. Perfection couldn’t hide forever, could it? For so many dancers before him, for  _ Soonyoung,  _ Perfection had shown its face. He just needed to wait his turn, that was all.

 

And with each second he spent before that mirror, Perfection staring at him and taunting him, he lost time before it would all be over. He had three days to find Perfection. Three days until the audition. There were to be influential men and women in that crowd-- people who could connect him to education, to training, to a life of dancing and grace that he spent years of his life chasing after. They could help him be Perfect. But would they want him if he wasn’t already? 

 

Suddenly, the music cut and he could only hear his own panting, his breath rattling in his chest and so loud that he was sure his skull would explode. He drowned out everything in that song- the song he had to master and perfect- but the silence in its absence was deafening. He turned on shaking, exhausted legs. His own breath felt like flames tearing through his body, suffocating him with smoke from the inside out. A figure stood beside his phone on the other side of the room, holding the device in his hand and unplugging the cord from it. Soonyoung.

 

“It’s late,” he said, the hood covering his eyes. “You’re shaking.”

 

He said nothing, staring at Soonyoung with an anger ripping through his chest. The latter wasn’t working, wasn’t chasing the dream he instilled in him to begin with. He was the one to plant this hungry, insatiable seed in his chest that only festered and grew into something near obsession, yet he hardly had the ambition to follow his own direction- to pursue the dream he began.    
  


Soonyoung stepped closer to him, placing his phone to the side and stowing his hands away in his pockets. “You’ve had enough,” he said. “The routine is perfect-”   
  
“Don’t,” he whispered, shaking his head, turning to face his reflection, unable to look himself in the eye. “I haven’t found it yet. But I’m trying. I thought you would be too.”

 

“It’s my own routine, Minghao,” he chided, taking cautious steps forward as if he’d step on a landmine. “I can find it’s Perfection. It’s  _ my  _ Perfection to find.”

 

He shook his head, a bitter, painful laugh cracking from his lips. “I’m not you,” he said. 

 

And he wasn’t. Soonyoung was perfect- an embodiment of the Perfection Minghao struggled so often to chase down. His movements, his expressions, his mind were all flawless creations that he couldn’t dream of replicating. He taught Minghao everything he knew, choreographed a dance specifically for him to perform at the audition. But he wasn’t Soonyoung. The moves were not meant for someone like him, someone who could never find Perfection no matter how hard he tried. When he moved before that mirror, he saw the beat he missed that Soonyoung hit perfectly, he saw the scrawniness of his legs that ruined the grace Soonyoung had shown him moments before. In front of that horrible mirror, Soonyoung shined, his body and face glowing with a passion and intensity Minghao can’t quite fathom.  There were grace and elegance in his bones, an effortless mastery of something that has conquered him for so long.    
  
And for that, Minghao was bitter.

 

“You’re not me,” Soonyoung said. “But you’re something even better.” He took another brave step towards Minghao. He knew how he became when deadlines approached faster than bullets and the mirror took him as a captive. He grabbed him by the upper arm, eyes wide. “Take a break. I’ll walk you home. Take off your pointe shoes.” 

 

“I’m not ready to leave,” he said, turning to face the mirror again as a shiver wracked through his entire body, shaking him from his shoulders to his knees. His breath shuddered. 

 

Soonyoung refused to let go, tugging him back a step by the arm, eyes on Minghao’s through the reflection of the mirror. Minghao couldn’t help but see a flicker of something sinister in his dark irises: the mirror’s distortion. “You don’t look well,” he whispered, another hand reaching to stroke at the small of his back. “I know you’re working hard, just as I taught you, but there is a limit. You’ve hit it.”

 

Minghao wanted to cry as Soonyoung dragged him from the mirror, one arm hooked around his elbow. He pulled him to the back of the room where his dance bag was discarded, a mess of busted pointe shoes, socks, and his spare clothes spilling past the zipper. Soonyoung knelt down, scooping Minghao’s clothes in his arms and handing them to the latter. “Take off your shoes and change,” he urged again. “If you walked out in your tights, you’ll easily freeze to death.” Knowing arguing would be futile, he took the clothes without another word and slipped into the bathroom. His body ached, his legs shaking beneath his body and begging to give way. Changing was torture, and it physically pained him to pry his pointe shoes off of his feet. He didn’t want to stop. There was too much to be done- too much to perfect.

 

There was knocking on the other side of the door. “Minghao.” 

 

“I’m coming,” he rasped, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment, the motion easing his pounding head- at least for a moment. He buttoned his jeans and pulled on his sweater, his tights and pointe shoes gathered in his arms as he stepped out, eyes glassy and vision blurred. Soonyoung stood right on the other side, eyes wide but face stagnant. “Let’s go.”

 

He allowed the latter to pull a jacket over him, guiding his sore, trembling arms through the sleeves and securing the hood around his head. White. It was snowing and the sky was a vast, starless dome of void. A black so deep and undisturbed Minghao felt he was gazing off the edge of the earth. The sun had just awoken, shining it’s great head over the horizon as he disappeared into the studio- now it was nowhere to be found. Minghao missed it and its warmth. 

 

“You feel clammy,” Soonyoung said. They were walking along a sidewalk, the dim street lights a fake warmth cascading upon them. 

 

Minghao shook his head. “The sun’s gone. Not warm,” he mumbled. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle in his body, his head drooped until his chin rested upon his chest. Soonyoung kept him upright. Somehow. 

  
“It’s three in the morning.” Soonyoung offered him a smile, ducking his head to catch Minghao’s averted eyes. “The sun will be back soon, but that’s not what I meant.”    
  
A hand snaked its way against his skin, and it felt as if ice suddenly overcome his entire being, the cold biting at his skin, causing him to flinch. The freezing, calloused palm rested against his forehead, bringing a sudden, overwhelming relief that brought tears to his eyes. 

 

Soonyoung made a vague noise. “Damn,” he hissed beneath his breath, the sound lost in the cold, snowy breeze overtaking the street. “Feels like a fever. I need to get you home.”

 

But he didn’t  _ want  _ to leave. When he wasn’t in the studio, trapped in front of the mirrors, he was trapped inside his single-room apartment, his pacing burning streaks into the floor as he played through each move in his head. Each movement, position, transition, leap, turn. All were flawless in his mind, his body able to perfectly string together each motion until he painted a work of art across the stage- no, a masterpiece. He knew he would never be able to achieve such masterpiece outside of his mind, but that would not stop him from trying. In his apartment, he was caged, unable to practice until his body begged for mercy. He felt as if he’d been wasting away, all the diligent work and effort put into seeking Perfection deteriorating with each second he sat inside. Which is why he spent his twilight hours as a slave in front of the mirror. 

 

Minghao shook his head, staring down at Soonyoung with burning, wide eyes. “I can’t,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m not…”   
  
“You don’t have to be perfect. It’s impossible,” he said, shouldering Minghao’s dance bag. “You’ll kill yourself chasing after it and my best friend will be gone.”

 

_ I want to make you proud,  _ he wanted to say.  _ I want to show you that I can make your dance more magnificent than what you could have ever dreamed. I  _ have  _ to be perfect. But I’m failing you, and I’m sorry. _

 

The minutes spent walking back to his apartment were tense moments of pregnant silence. Minghao could hardly breathe, suffocated by the intense atmosphere radiating and thickening around the pair. The worry poured off of Soonyoung in waves, and Minghao’s guilt festered like an infected wound. He shouldn’t be a topic of concern for the latter; he was stressed and busy with his own performance for the audition, and Minghao was sapping his rehearsal time away. If Soonyoung failed, it would be his fault. 

 

“Promise me,” Soonyoung whispered so low that the wind almost carried it away. Minghao leaned in close, his weight resting heavily against the latter as the shaking in his knees became so violent he could barely keep himself upright. He felt as if his skin danced with fire, thousands of needles pricking at his skin, torturing him. The heat was impossible to escape despite the snow flurrying around his head. His winter coat felt like a straight-jacket, and Minghao’s breath hitched. “Promise me you’ll take a break. Rest.”

 

Before he could shake his head- plead  _ no-  _ Soonyoung continued. “The day before the performance, I’ll help you with your choreography,” he said. “I’ll make sure you’re  _ perfect. _ ”

 

He said the word with such bitterness that it confused him. Wasn’t it something every dancer-- every performer-- chased after? There was no other goal to achieve; that’s why dancers never stopped. They always worked. They worked until their feet bled, until their knees gave out beneath them, all because of this unobtainable trophy of Perfection that glimmered and smiled down at them teasingly, enchanting them to keep trying, because one day it could possibly be theirs to claim. Minghao once knew better, once knew that trying to attain such a faux prize was a suicide mission. He knew once that he would lose everything he loved about the art, and he was right. 

 

Chasing Perfection drained him of any life and love he wanted to pour into his dancing, into his movement. He wanted to move audiences, bring them to tears, awe, or inexplicable joy. But now, he could hardly bring energy into his own movements, his body limp and sagging in front of the mirror and only withering all the more the more countless hours he spent pouring into his work. He knew this, buried deep down beneath his fear, yet the fear dominated him so that he couldn’t see past it. He was a victim of his own ambition, wanting nothing more than to impress Soonyoung, the crowd, and any agents possibly watching. It was his one chance to achieve his dream, but he was destroying himself before he could even reach it. He couldn’t  _ stop.  _

 

“That’s too close,” he whispered. “We- I can’t possibly learn a routine the day before an audition.” Soonyoung’s grip on his arm tightened, and the latter clicked his tongue. 

 

“You already know the routine,” Soonyoung said. “You know it so well I’m convinced you could dance it in your sleep. So the morning before, we’ll work together and do what we can. All you can do now is sleep.”

 

Though he knew he couldn’t stop- couldn’t vanquish the hunger and thirst growing inside of him, he nodded. After all, it was all supposed to be for  _ Soonyoung,  _ and Minghao recognized he lost that direction. He wanted to make him proud, so he said nothing else.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered to Soonyoung as he unlocked the front door and staggered inside. It was hardly warmer inside than it had been out in the snow. He hadn’t paid his bills in a while, perhaps they shut off his heat. He couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment. Soonyoung’s hold on his arms remained stern and steady. 

 

“I can take it from here,” Minghao said, resting his hand over Soonyoung’s, almost flinching at how cold it felt against his own scalding skin. He withdrew it quickly. “Thanks, I… I’ll be fine.”   
  
“Don’t lie to me,” Soonyoung whispered, shaking his head as he led Minghao over to his bed, only letting go once he was seated carefully on the edge. He sighed, taking a step back and running his hands through his hair. “Minghao, you have to slow down. Okay? Just for tonight, that’s all I ask of you.”   
  
“Okay-”

  
“No, don’t give me that. You can’t just brush me off like you always do,” he said like it hurt to breathe. “I want you to promise me. Promise me you’ll stop, you’ll rest until I can work with you before the competition. You can’t even think about performing until you’re at your best.”

 

“I know, okay, I know,” he hissed, tucking his pounding head into his hands, eyes watering as they burned and his entire skull ached. “I’m sorry, Soonyoung.”

The latter shook his head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.” He pulled his jacket tighter around his body with a shudder, hiding his hands inside his pocket and backing up towards the doorway. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.” 

 

With that, the door closed behind him, and Minghao was alone all over again. Despite how much he hated to admit to himself, his chest ached with Soonyoung’s departure. Even when he was being berated for his self-destructive behavior, Minghao found solace in his presence; it was as if nothing would crumble or fall apart when he was around. Nothing could hurt him. Not the mirrors, not Perfection, not himself. But when he was alone it could; these things tormented him, whispering into his ear and filling his mind with a darkness so vast and deep that it terrified him. 

 

He was scared. He was scared of himself, what his own mind was capable of. Without Soonyoung to remind him to lie down and take moments for himself, Minghao was certain he’d drive himself into the ground. It was simply a matter of which would burn out first: his body or his mind. 

 

Too tired to consider the matter, he peeled off his sneakers, not bothering to undo the laces. Tossing them across the room, he slumped back into bed, pulling the mess of covers and blanks around him until he was cocooned in warmth, still in his clothes from practice. He had no strength left inside of him to get up and change, to brush his teeth, or take the shower he probably desperately needed. All he could think of was falling asleep, letting the peaceful void of sleep numb the blinding pain in his skull. 

 

Eventually, the void did take him, cradling him with more care than he could ever handle himself with. 

 

ıllıllııllıllı

 

_ Lights blinded him from above. Where? He couldn’t see where they were coming from. A crowd… There was a crowd in front of him, their faces void of any expression or distinct features, their humanity lost behind a thick, foggy veil cast upon by the light. He could see nothing but the vast outlines of the crowd before him; it grew by the second, he could feel himself becoming surrounded more by the second, yet he could not see a single face. There was no edge of the world, the blinding light blurring where he began and the arena ended. A voice yelled over the chaos- he just now registered it- a burst of angered voices lapping over each other like angered waves, the roaring of the ocean deafening to his ears. The crowd moved like currents, rushing around him, pulling him under and pushing all air from his lungs. _

 

_ Oh god, he couldn’t breathe. His knees shook, the light bearing down on him now with such force that he could feel its weight on his shoulders. He tired to run, to get away, but the light followed, clung to him like a parasite, and the stage never seemed to end. No matter where he ran, the wood continued beneath his feet and the crowd around him only grew and grew until his ear drums burst with a might, deafening roar. He had to  _ move,  _ he knew he needed to. The crowd was waiting, sharp teeth bared. They wanted him to move. He had to move.  _

 

_ Shakily, he began his routine, crossing his ankles and spinning like a top. Was that even the first step? The dance was slipping away from him now, his mind fleeting as one move ungracefully interrupted the next, his arms and legs tangled until he felt like a rusted machine sputtering through its last few moments of life. He tried to power through- he truly did- but their screams were far too long for him to keep himself upright. He stumbled out of his pirouette, ankle rolling and cracking until he ended up in a heap on the hard, unforgiving wooden stage beneath him. It groaned beneath his weight. He suddenly stopped. He couldn’t move, bile rushing up the back of his throat. Frozen, he was left under the empty mercy of the light. It burned at his skin like acid; it hurt, enveloping his entire self in ceaseless heat and agony. His ears were ringing, but through the white noise he could make out distant, echoed jeering. With each second their screams grew louder, the force of the volume nearly knocking him over.  _

 

_ He had failed. His heart sunk through his stomach. It had been his last chance; he worked so hard. All those hours spent shedding blood, sweat, and tears in front of the tormenting wall of mirrors lost. He felt  the sorrow hollowing out his chest, curling into the empty cavity and weighing him down as if anvils were tied at his ankles in open water.  _

 

_ There was nothing he could do but sink into the ground, the wood falling away and morphing beneath him until a deep blackness enveloped him, the jeers of the crowd muffling until there was nothing but silence.  _

 

He sat bolt upright in bed, soaked sheets pooling in his lap. Through the intense ringing in his ears, he could hear the creak of his rickety bed frame quivering under the force of his body’s tremors. That couldn’t be right, the sheets and his clothes were soaked, but he couldn’t stop shivering. The room was freezing, yet his skin felt clammy but scalding to the touch. Everything felt  _ wrong _ \- his head and body ached as if one wrong move would cause him to fall apart at the joints. His eyes burned, and he could hardly open them for more than a few seconds before he forced them shut again. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t cease, only growing in intensity before he realized the ringing was  _ outside  _ his head.

 

He rolled over, his phone vibrating on the nightstand beside his bed. He groaned and reached out for his phone, his arms sore and aching from the simple movement. He couldn’t open his eyes wide enough to see the caller ID, so he declined the call and tossed his phone somewhere on his bed. He couldn’t fathom moving- not now with his head pounding and body feeling as if he was melting into bed, despite how uncomfortably  _ hot  _ it was. 

 

An old, bitter feeling tugged at his gut; something was calling out to him, but for a few moments he couldn’t quite place what it was. Its voice was taunting and alluring- haunting, even- and called his name. It felt like a trap, he recognized it, but he couldn’t help but stir at the sound of it. There it was, the familiarity.  _ Perfection.  _ His limbs ached and whether it was from fever or desire to get back into the studio he was unsure. Perfection spoke to him, its voice bitter and harsher than any venom. It wanted him to move out of bed and get back to work. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. His body wouldn’t comply. 

 

The tugging in his gut changed suddenly, and he found himself rolling out of bed with a hand plastered against his mouth. Something deep in his stomach was stirring angrily, burning in his body, pleading to be released. His bathroom was close- if only he could make it there in time. He vaguely registered his phone beginning to ring again, but he couldn’t be bothered to check. He crawled, the dirty carpet leaving rug burns along his forearms. Each movement jostled his stomach and it seized in protest, the bile rushing into his mouth before he could even cross the threshold into the bathroom. Arms shaking beneath his weight, he turned his head away from his vomit, unable to stand the scent of it without the bile returning to his throat.

 

He felt numb. Odd, he thought, he had barely had anything to eat for days. There was nothing left to be expelled, but that didn’t stop his stomach from seizing, bile still creeping up the back of his throat until his throat and mouth burned with the cruelest acid. He sat there on the carpet, forcing himself to prop up against the wall as every muscle in his body seemed to sag, completely depleted of all energy. He cursed and reached up to swipe across his lips with the back of his hand. The buzzing across the room never ended, adding to his pounding headache that spread from his temples to his forehead; the pain was so intense that he struggled to catch his breath, eyes watering and vision blurring. The view of his room faded to blurs of indistinct shapes and color, the dawn-breaking light bearing through the drawn curtains of the room too intense for him to keep his eyes open for longer than a second. 

 

Everything  _ hurt,  _ but because everything hurt, nothing hurt at all. He felt the skin of his fingertips dance with static, his entire body buzzing unbearably. Deeper and deeper he fell within himself, the ringing and buzzing of his phone across the room drowned out completely by the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. He could not hear, see, or feel besides the scorching heat and terrible numbness speaking throughout him. His heartbeat demanded to be heard, blood roaring in his ears, but his mind proved to be the bigger monster, clawing its way into the front of his attention, screaming at him and begging him to  _ move.  _

 

His stomach refused to calm down, each breath he took causing his middle to spasm and cramp up. He had to move; he had to practice. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

 

_ “Relax your shoulders.” _

 

Minghao’s head rolled against the wall, slumping limply against the wall; he had no energy to even twitch his fingers, they felt far too disconnected from his body, as if he was pulled apart by his limbs, strewn across the apartment, paralyzed. “Hm..?” He didn’t see anyone. 

 

_ “Relax, and take a breath,”  _ the voice was soft. Tender. Familiar.  _ “There you go. You’re safe with me.”  _ He could hear the smile in the voice. He wished he could see it; he wanted brightness, warmth. He felt so cold. His fingers trembled.

 

His head lolled towards the voice, wanting to reach it and hold it close, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint where it was coming from. There was too much static noise blaring in his ears, the sound as if it was all underwater. He could feel himself drowning, the water filling his mouth and burning his throat. He held on as long as he could as the water filled him up, suffocating him from the inside, until his stomach lurched and he fell forward. Barely able to catch himself on his elbow, Minghao retched. The water was suddenly replaced with bile, and he was choking, sputtering as the acidic mixture crawled up his throat and splattered onto the carpet. 

 

The stench burned at his nostrils, tears clouding his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, his voice rattling and thick with restrained sobs. He let everyone down- let Soonyoung down. There was nothing he could do as he slumped against the wall, limbs fuzzy as numbness nipped at his fingertips and toes. “I can’t do it.”

 

_ You have to,  _ Minghao insisted to himself despite the pounding in his skull and the overwhelming desire to lie down and let himself disintegrate into the carpet. There really was no choice- he refused to allow some illness or exhaustion knock him down when he was so close to achieving what he trained so long for. He had no concept of what time it was, but the sunlight pouring through the curtains suggested he was already late for practice. Avoiding his own vomit, he crawled across the carpet and pulled himself back to his bed, trying to suppress the bile that churned in his gut. His phone was still ringing, the sound rattling in his head and making his head throb. He grabbed the device, eyes shut to avoid the brightness of the screen, and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?” he croaked.

_ “Minghao! What the fuck?” _ Minghao pulled the phone away from his ear as Soonyoung’s voice boomed from his speaker.  _ “I’ve been calling you for hours, and you won’t answer your door. What the hell? Where have you been?” _

 

With a groan, he finally picked up his head to look at the clock on his nightstand.  _ 10:15.  _ “I just slept in,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He tried hiding just how groggy and awful he felt- if Soonyoung found out he was feeling sick, he wouldn’t let him perform. “I’ll be at the studio in twenty minutes-”   
  
_ “Slept in?!”  _ Soonyoung’s voice was shrill in his ears and it took every fiber of his being not to snap at his friend. His patience was wearing thin.  _ “Minghao, I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. Your audition is in an hour! What’s gotten into you?” _

 

His ears began to ring. The room around him tilted at his axis, blood rushing through his ears. He tried to speak, tried to ask Soonyoung what he meant, but his throat was too dry that if failed him. The latter rambled on in his ear, and finally Minghao managed to pull his phone back and squint at the screen, eyeing the date in the top corner of his screen. His heart dropped through his stomach and onto the ground, the nausea returning full force as he wavered where he sat, barely able to catch himself on his elbow before pressing the phone back to his ear. “Sorry, I’m… I’ll be right there, I promise.” 

 

Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and tossed the phone aside, eyes wide and frantic. His legs felt far too weak to support his weight, but he knew he had no other choice. He had to leave  _ now.  _ It was the morning of the audition; he had just seen Soonyoung, though, only a few hours before, and he had had two days to prepare then… Where did that time go? His head spun and rushed as he stood, struggling out of his sweatpants and reaching for his tights. No time. No time. Panic burst in his chest like flames overtaking a piece of timer- slowly then all at once, heat overwhelming and causing him to wither up like ashes and embers swirling into the sky. His fingers trembled as he pulled on his tights and staggered to the bathroom.

 

A monster stared at him through the mirror; a doppelganger of himself but with eyes hollow, skin transparent and paper-like-- a dead replica of himself. Avoiding the mocking stare of his Other self, he splashed his face in the sink, the cold water shocking him back into reality, extinguishing the fire that rapidly festered inside his chest. He shivered, swiping at his face. Nothing was going to plan. Useless. Stupid. This was his fault- how foolish could he be to sleep through the single most important audition of his life? How had he slept for two days yet exhaustion still relentlessly tugged at his limbs as if he was a marionette controlled by a sadistic puppeteer. He was dancer- a master and servant of the ballet- he wasn’t used to being controlled by forces he couldn’t control. He was supposed to have perfect control of himself, of his grace, of his body. That’s what this audition was all about, but he could hardly harness control of his own body. He shivered and trembled against his own will, his throat constricting with a gag as he hastily brushed his teeth to clear of any remaining stench of vomit. 

 

He didn’t have enough time. He didn’t get to practice- Soonyoung hadn’t helped him achieve Perfection like he had promised. He looked Soonyoung in the eyes, and he trusted him; he trusted him with the single most important dance of his life. But Minghao knew it was wrong to project his anxieties and frustrations on Sooyoung. It was his fault, he ruined it. He always ruined it. Because he was weak…

 

ıllıllııllıllı

 

A long time ago, Minghao learned not to trust anyone. Trust was only an excuse to hand over a piece of his heart to someone who wanted to crush it. He danced for no one but himself; he let no one else see what he imagined and created in the studio, in front of a wall of mirrors. For years, he allowed himself to be swallowed up bit by bit in attempts to please the Other self in the mirror that perpetually taunted him. He was lost- a compass without a needle- searching desperately for his due north. There was nothing pulling him in one particular direction or the other. The only thing that fueled him was his fear of Perfection- his fear of failure. There was nothing else, no passion, no pleasure, no pain. Only fear. Fear consumed his every waking moment he spent in the studio that he eventually stopped going altogether. He also feared that the moment he put piece of his fragile heart into someone else’s hands, they would shatter it into irreparable, tiny pieces- ashes of his past self forgotten and thrown to the wind. 

 

His smile had been incredibly bright, his voice sweet like honey and low. It always managed to calm him down. He met him at school, listened to him sing and let himself swing and float to the melody he created. He was the first to see Minghao dance. He had smiled with awe, his voice faltering as his attention focused solely on him and the way he moved. There was a brightness in his presence everywhere he went, a brightness that cast a light on the Other self in the mirror and drove away Perfection’s chaotic whisperings. 

  
What he didn’t know was that with each burst of sunlight came a storm, brewing each second the hotter the light becomes. His storm was horrific and devastating- a mess of hospital stays, tests, and surgeries. He deteriorated fast, the smile breaking down to a pained wince, bright eyes dulled to tear-glazed black. Minghao watched as sickness and exhaustion sapped him clean of any strength, spirit, and joy he had- the joy that used to radiate off of his skin like the sun radiated heat. It was gone, within the matter of months, the man he knew and trusted with every ounce of his being broke down and faded away. Like ashes.

 

He wasn’t really sure what they were- friends, companions, brothers. But he trusted, finally, the one person that disappeared right before him, that fell through his fingers like sand. He knew it wasn’t his fault. But the selfish, irrational part of Minghao’s brain couldn’t comprehend it- couldn’t figure out why he would rope him in, make him care and trust, only to die a few months later. The latter had known he was sick- he had known the fate that met the two of them, yet he said  _ nothing.  _

 

Minghao couldn’t dance for anyone after that. Then he met Soonyoung- a mutual friend of theirs. The man danced in a way he could never imagine. He moved with grace and agility he had only seen in professional ballerinas. Soon, he took him under his wing, and slowly began to unwind the tight ball that he had curled himself into. Piece by piece, he managed to help Minghao find the  _ passion  _ in the dance, rather than the Perfection. But that didn’t stop the mirror from whispering things to him, telling him he would never be enough. That  _ nothing  _ he could ever do would make him a great dancer.

 

Soonyoung tried to convince him otherwise, showed him that there was beauty, grace, and art in what they did. That it wasn’t about the Perfection; that its temptations didn’t matter. Minghao wanted that passion for himself- that bravery and poise- so he trusted in Soonyoung. He wasn’t ready to let down Soonyoung now.

 

“Thank god, you’re here,” he said as Minghao stepped inside the auditorium dressing room. Concern laced his face, and Minghao knew he must have looked infinitely worse than he had imagined.  There were several men and women prancing around the room, bodies adorned in the clean, slender attire required for the audition. They fluttered about, hair plastered with layers of hair-spray and legs kicking in the air as they practiced leaps and pirouettes. With each passing second, Minghao feared he would kneel over and vomit all over Soonyoung’s shoes. He tightened his grip on his dance bag that slung over his shoulder. Everything past that movement moved at lightning speed- people rushing past him, a brush raking through his hair, powder pressed against his face- until he stood in a studio, legs ready to buckle beneath him and nausea returning like a monster hungry for more.

 

Mirrors and barres surrounded him on all sides, his reflection dancing off of every wall and haunting him from every angle; he couldn’t escape it this time. Before him sat three individuals- two women and a man- who looked more like skeletons than people. Their skulls were hollowed out, eyes sunken, fingers skinny and bony around their pens. Their eyes were void- staring a hole through him as if he was the most disgusting, disappointing thing that could have walked into the room.

 

This was it: these were his judges. The opinions of these three skeletons determined if he would be able to attend school and perfect his craft, or if he would be destined to a life as an amatuer. Someone who could never accomplish more than a simple hobbyist would. Three minds dictated his future. Perfection was no longer his to find. He rather had to find it in the blank expressions of the strangers seated at the black-tarped table before him. He stated his name, voice quivering. Before he even took position, their pens were scraping against the paper, and it sounded like nails against a chalkboard in his skull. He withheld a wince, staring at the man seated in between the two female judges as his music began.

 

He felt the same as he had in his nightmare: under an oppressive spotlight, choked up and petrified. Only there was no endless, jeering crowd, but the disappointed faces of the three Fates. His legs felt just as weak- his chest just as constricted in panic as it had been during his nightmare. He was destined to fail, wasn’t he? He was lazy, he was weak, and he slept through whatever practice time he had left to make sure he blew the audition out of the water. 

 

He started dancing before his brain could even register the movement, letting the music carry him as he trained his body to, all the while forcing the bile that stung at his throat to stay down. His vision was blurry, and it was hard to focus on the judges when six of them started to appear, each spectre outline overlapping the other. He couldn’t decide which set of eyes to look at, couldn’t discern his right leg from his left. His reflection in the mirror flopped ungracefully, the Other’s eyes meeting his own with a sinister red glistening in them. 

 

Soonyoung’s face appeared in his field of vision. Past the door, through the small window carved into the heavy wooden door Minghao had entered, sat Soonyoung, peering in the room with the concern still dripping from his features like water as if he had just climbed out of a pool. His eyes were trained on Minghao, but he could only focus on his friend for a moment before his gaze was locked onto the ceiling.

 

Pain radiated throughout his back, sparking along his spine in electric ripples. His ears rung as if a gunshot had just went off inside of his skull, and he fought every urge his body gave to roll over and expel the contents of his stomach. He heard, through the ringing, a door slam open, followed by quiet, concerned murmurs. He couldn’t breathe- his chest heaving as to draw in a breath was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. 

 

There were hands on his face, directing his eyes onto a face. He recognized that face. Right? Yes, it was Soonyoung, his friend. He had seen it before, from afar, but why was it so close now? He stirred, trying to sit up, but a hand on his chest shoved him back to the ground, something soft now resting beneath the base of his throbbing skull. 

 

Soonyoung was still there, his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what he was trying to say. Before he could help it, he registered tears of frustration burning in his eyes, sobs penting up in his throat and suffocating him like he was drowning from the inside. Air bubbled up in his chest as he tried to swallow the sob, only for it to escape past his clenched jaw.

 

“You’re alright,” his friend soothed, one hand petting the side of his head while the other grasped Minghao’s, squeezing his palm and lacing their fingers together. “Minghao, breathe. You’re okay, you’re fine. Please, just take a deep breath, ‘kay?” 

 

But he couldn’t. Everytime he tried to force a breath through another panicked sob bubbled past his lips.  _ He had ruined it.  _ His once chance to find a future in what Soonyoung taught him to love, and he threw it away like it was nothing. He was too weak to fight through the pain- to dance as if everything he had left depended on it. But it wasn’t like he had much to dance for, anyway, he thought bitterly. He tried to grasp onto Soonyoung’s voice as if it was an anchor planting him into the painful reality. It hardly worked, however, as his vision went dark at the edges, his limbs weak at his sides as if full of lead. He tried to fight it, he swore he did, but the dark was too powerful as his chest ached with his shallow, panicked breaths. He couldn’t keep himself rooted into reality, his body shutting down on him as the heat swallowed him up from the inside. He heard Soonyoung crying above him, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize for hurting him. For not being good enough. 

 

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Soonyoung knew this was a mistake. Minghao shouldn’t be auditioning, and he should have realized that long before the other night when he walked in on him rehearsing. Ever since he met him, Soonyoung knew he put one-hundred percent, if not more, into everything he did. If he was going to do something, he was going to master it, no matter if it killed him in the process. He was afraid it nearly would after Joshua died. Minghao’s connection to him had been strange- distant yet impossibly close all at the same time. They were together often, and Soonyoung couldn’t miss the way Joshua’s lame jokes always managed to crack a smile from the latter. Once he was gone, however, he didn’t see that smile anymore. The passion was gone in the way he danced- the purpose. He was not longer dancing for himself, instead using ballet as some form of physical punishment; he found a way to push himself past his limit, to distract himself from the insurmountable pain Joshua left in his wake. Minghao just couldn’t handle it, and Soonyoung understood that. So he took him under his wing.

  
He tried to cultivate him as a dancer, tried to teach him to use his talent, his body, for art rather than pain. He could burn the pain, pour his emotions into the art, but he didn’t have to kill himself doing it. When he told Minghao he had arranged the audition, he should’ve realized it was a mistake. He practiced too much, pushing himself to the point that was no longer healthy- where he was harming his body more than he was learning anything. Soonyoung regretted teaching the latter the dance, regretted urging him on to reach his dreams and find his passion, as he never truly expected it to almost kill him.

 

He also knew it was a mistake when he saw Minghao enter the Arts Center, face ashen and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. But there was nothing he could do to stop him. When Minghao set his mind to something, he wouldn’t stop, no matter what the wreckage was. He wanted nothing more than to break down into tears as Minghao entered the audition room. Guilt consumed him from the inside. He left Minghao alone- hadn’t been persistent enough to check on him during those two days he was missing, and the boy was deathly ill. This had been  _ his  _ fault. He didn’t intervene fast enough.

 

Helplessly, Soonyoung could do nothing but watch through the window. Minghao’s dance was strong at the start, strong enough that it momentarily lifted his spirits. Perhaps he’d be able to pull it off. But only after a few beats, he wavered. His posture fell, his focus wasn’t on the judges. He couldn’t see their faces from his vantage point in the door, but he knew the scowls that they would wear. He just hoped Minghao could fix his mistakes and finish strong.

 

All hope fled from him as Minghao’s eyes met his own, just before he dropped to the ground, flat on his back. 

 

He pushed into the room without thinking. Collapsing at Minghao’s side, he tucked his jacket underneath the back of his head, feeling gingerly for a knot forming at the base of his skull where his head had collided with the hardwood flooring. His eyes, wide and tearful, finally focused onto him as he tilted his head in his direction. Sobs caught in the latter’s throat, and it took all Soonyoung had not to break down. He pressed a hand to his forehead, the heat causing him to wince. How did he let this happen?   
  


“Call an ambulance,” he croaked, glancing over his shoulder to the three judges that were standing behind him, concern hidden from their faces. Minghao’s breathing only worsened, sobs cutting shaky breaths short in his chest. He pressed a hand to the latter’s cheek, swiping tears away with the pad of his thumb.

 

“You’re alright,” he soothed, his mind racing and heart hammering in his chest. He could hear one of the women talking on the phone- giving an address. “Minghao, breathe. You’re okay, you’re fine. Please, just take a deep breath, ‘kay?” 

He couldn’t contain his tears for a moment longer, hot streaks caking his cheeks as he looked down at his friend helplessly. The grip on his hand was weakening by the second, and Soonyoung held on for dear life, begging Minghao to hold on for just a moment longer until the ambulance arrived. 

 

Soonyoung told the paramedics that he refused to drive alone- that he had to ride in the back with Minghao in case he woke up. They agreed with reluctance, allowing him to climb into the back of the rig as they secured his friend to a gurney, oxygen mask secured onto his face. 

 

He rode in silence, one hand intertwined with Minghao’s and the other petting the top of his head. The paramedic sat on the other side of him, a watchful eye on the monitor tracking his vitals closely. Soonyoung didn’t understand a lot of medical jargon, but the steady beeping on the machine eased his anxieties. Nothing was erratically beeping or flashing like it had been when Joshua got sick- when he had crashed and coded and doctors rushed in trying all they could to resuscitate him. But then again, Joshua seemed just as serene before the machines exploded into disastrous harmonies of sounds, so Sooyoung didn’t feel too comforted after all. Nothing was ever what it appeared.

  
Minghao’s hand tensed against his own, fingers twitching and tapping the sides of his palm. Soonyoung scooted forward, lifting the latter’s hands to his lips and letting his breath graze against the skin.  _ I’m here,  _ the gesture said. 

 

He stirred, eyes glazed and unfocused. “What-”

 

“Don’t try to talk,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the back of his hand. “It’s okay.” 

 

This didn’t seem to calm Minghao down in the slightest, his petrified eyes darting around the back of the ambulance until he seemed to realize where he was. “The audition-” he croaked, breath fogging the oxygen mask as his breath rattled. “I didn’t-”   
  
Soonyoung adamantly shook his head. “No, stop,” he said. “This is more important.  _ You’re  _ more important.” He could not think of anything else to comfort the younger, to get the tears pooling in his eyes to go away. 

 

“I _ ruined _ it,” he whispered, and Soonyoung almost didn’t make it out past the mask. “Perfection, but- I failed her. I failed  _ you _ .”

 

“No,” was all Soonyoung could manage before his tears returned. He held Minghao’s hand tight, lips pressed against the skin and breath brushing against it until they arrived at the hospital, his legs locked up and lips trembling as Minghao was stripped away from him. He felt like he was reliving his worst nightmare- sitting in a bare, steril waiting room, waiting for the news that Joshua didn’t make it. That his  _ best friend  _ didn’t make it. 

 

But when the doctor came, it was a woman with a smile on his tired face. His uneasiness settled, and he stood to meet her. She led him to his room, reporting stats and vitals that he couldn’t bother to understand. After the words “he’s fine” left her lips, he filtered everything else out.

 

A fever, he registered. He suffered from a high fever and exhaustion. Most likely wore himself down and caught something nasty in his weakened state. As much as Soonyoung wanted to curse and blame the kid for his recklessness, he couldn’t help but feel the burden of blame rest heavily upon his shoulders. He pushed open the door to Minghao’s room, surprised to find him propped up in bed, eyes open but clouded with exhaustion. “You should be resting,” he said softly as he stepped in the room, folding his jacket over his arms and pulling a chair up to his bedside. “You have a fever.”   
  
“It’s nothing,” he whispered, shaking his head and hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Soonyoung reached up and brushed them to the side, heart breaking as he saw the glitter of tears in Minghao’s eyes. “Minghao…” 

 

“I was weak,” he interjected, pulling his head to the side as if Soonyoung’s touch had burned him. His fingers shook where they tangled into the sheets. “I couldn’t do the one thing I’ve been training to do for months. I got sick, because I’m  _ weak. _ ”

 

He paused for a moment. “We are all weak most of the time,” he said. “We are all born to a parent or two, we learn to eat from them, how to walk, talk, play, run, laugh. That is how we come into the world, weak and needy, desperate to learn how to be a person and where we will fit into the world.” He weakly smiled at Minghao. “ _ This.  _ This isn’t weakness. This is bravery and determination. To be impervious to illness, to pain, is to not be human. You’re too human to fulfill this facade you’re trying to make.”

 

Tears slipped down Minghao’s cheek as he shook his head. “This was my chance-”   
  
“And there will be others,” he said. “You have to take care of yourself first, idiot. Like I said, you’re human. And you pushed yourself too far.”

 

A broken sob cracked past Minghao’s lips, and Soonyoung’s heart shattered in his chest. “I’m sorry,” the latter whispered, his voice barely there as the cries shook his sickly, shivering frame. Without another word, Soonyoung crawled onto the side of Minghao’s bed, pulling the boy into his arms, pushing him against his chest and resting his chin on the top of his head. He held him there for a long time, his own tears mute and hot against his cheeks. He held Minghao until he fell asleep, breath weak and skin still far too hot. 

 

Soonyoung vowed that he could no longer let this monster- Perfection- feast on Minghao any longer. It had been his responsibility, and he failed him. He wouldn’t let it happen again. There was nothing else Minghao could do to achieve Perfection. She never existed to begin with, she wasn’t something either one of them could obtain. But, it was possible to create his own definition of Perfection. Soonyoung was see to it that he would craft Minghao into his own Perfection- one that could never let him down. 


End file.
